Hello Darkness My Old Friend
by Immi
Summary: Dealing with cut safety lines is a standard part of training. Wallowing over it is less standard. And makes for really awkward pillow talk. Yumikuri


**MANGA ALLUSIONS** up to chapter 52.

* * *

The barracks is quiet tonight.

It's different. Closer to—home.

She's never thought to compare the two before.

Normally, even long after the lights go out, rustling sheets and murmurs of conversation bounce against the walls. The previous winter took it beyond that, with whispered arguments over spare blankets keeping everyone awake and irritated until an instructor came by to shout at them.

But tonight Krista can barely hear her own breathing. Even the empty thud of her heartbeat sounds muffled.

She tosses onto her side and stares at the shadow of Ymir's back.

Everyone talks so easily here, the silence that comes when no one wants to say anything is deafening.

It's always like this when someone's line is cut, Krista tells herself. Humans killing humans—that isn't meant to happen. Good people know that, and it disturbs them. Death fills the air with its muted hush, and there's nothing more to be said about it.

Except she's alive.

Buried deep in her pillow, Krista tries to feel more grateful for that. All she can muster up is a deeper chill in her chest.

The first time, they were told not to panic. The clearest example they were given of that instruction's importance was the first scream, cut short by a wet crumple against the ground. The instructors burned it into their heads.

Don't panic.

Watching the strain and the terror on her departed classmates' faces, Krista never thought of it as a simple direction. Humans killing humans. She knows there is nothing calm about that.

But today it was her turn.

She didn't panic.

Krista keeps her eyes trained on Ymir's outline. Safe in the distant cold of her bunk, she wonders, for a brief, sadistic moment, if that means she isn't human.

That's the kind of thing a friend might joke about. Not even a friend, maybe just somebody who… somebody who would listen. If they talked. If they acted like they belonged with the honest people sleeping around them who knew how to make friends.

She didn't panic.

She was relieved.

No one would blame her if she died here. No one would have a new reason to hate her for this. No one could say she didn't try—

Except that would be a lie. Falling to her death instead of grabbing the nearest handhold with all her might wasn't trying. Acting like she didn't see it wasn't noble; it was pathetic. She didn't need a friend to tell her that.

She shivers. She didn't want to act like a coward. Doesn't. She can be one all she wants because nothing she does seems to cure it, but she can do better. She'll act like a good soldier and die that way, not—not like today.

For now, she survived, and she's alive. She's alive and breathing and nothing in the oppressive silence she's inhaling is making her feel any better about it.

"If you wanted to freeze to death, you missed your chance."

Krista's head jolts off her pillow at the whispered drawl.

A shimmering glint that wasn't there a moment ago shines in Ymir's shadow. At her flinch, it narrows in an expression Krista doesn't need to see to recognize as amusement. There's a soft rustle of movement, and she feels her blanket being pulled up to her chest. It had slipped down to her legs without her noticing.

"I'm not cold," she whispers back. The tremor in her voice isn't very convincing.

"Then stop shifting around and go to sleep. You're making a racket."

For the only words Ymir has spoken to her since breakfast, they lack the anticipated bite.

Krista edges closer to the other bunk, deliberately scraping her blanket against the sheets. Even without the silence ringing in her ears, she can barely hear it. Ymir's frustrated sigh is much louder. Krista can almost feel her jaw unclenching enough for a smile. She digs her chipped nails into her pillowcase instead.

"Why are you still up?" No tremor.

She doesn't get a verbal response. She doesn't really need one. She can feel Ymir scowling at her. Within seconds, the other girl has rolled over—close enough for Krista to feel the heat blasting from her skin. She shivers again, and wonders if she was wrong about not being cold.

They're close enough now that Krista's limited vision is enough to confirm her imagination's assumption. She doesn't try to match Ymir's glare. She stares over her shoulder instead.

Minutes tick by. The silence flows back, only now it's the furthest thing from empty. Krista can feel shame crashing around her ears in a confused torrent of pain and she has to bite her tongue to keep herself from mumbling an apology.

She isn't sure what she'd be apologizing for. All she knows is that the instant she dropped back to the ground after the training exercise, she looked at Ymir and no one was looking back.

Her eyes drift away from the blackness of the rest of the cabin and land back on Ymir's. Her expression hasn't softened, not really, but she looks more pensive than annoyed. She sighs again, and Krista can hear her hair brushing against her pillow.

"You know, the MPs don't practice enough to worry about falling off cliffs."

A whole new current of shame and bitterness starts in Krista's gut. She swallows and chokes out the words she's been practicing in her head since the very first time Ymir brought up the Military Police as something to aspire to.

"I'm not going to run away."

"You never know," Ymir says easily. One of her fingers flicks away a strand of hair that's fallen into Krista's face. "You might find something worth running to once you're there."

Something about the way she says that almost makes Krista ask, really ask, just this once, about what Ymir means about them being alike. It makes her _want_ to ask.

With the same thought comes the desire to shout that she's never going back to the interior, and if that's what Ymir wants out of her, she should drop it now because it will never be worth the trouble—

But they aren't that kind of friends. Krista isn't sure if they're any kind.

Ymir lets out another frustrated huff of air, and before Krista can properly register the shift in her mood, she's pulled stiffly into Ymir's arms. The abruptness sends the air from her lungs, and it takes a concentrated effort, moments later, to pry her nails from the palm of her hand. The one attached to her pillowcase remains stubbornly in place.

Ymir's heartbeat is thrumming under her ear.

It's loud.

"For gods' sake, Krista," Ymir mutters roughly into her hair, "go to sleep."

Krista doesn't panic.

She doesn't move, either. She's petrified by Ymir's proximity and warmth and the welcoming boom of her heartbeat. Ymir twitches, and the grip around her shoulders tightens, nestling Krista's head further into her chest.

Krista's eyes burn.

She thinks…

She thinks this might be the kind of hug all of those books were talking about.

Uncertainly, she shuts her eyes and lets herself breathe again. Ymir relaxes, giving her a brief squeeze before her grip yields. Krista lets go of her pillowcase and buries her face in Ymir's shirt.

Maybe they're not friends. Maybe they're not anything.

But maybe it means something to Ymir that she's still alive.


End file.
